


Therapy

by hatebeat



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Dom/sub, Established Relationship, M/M, Punishment, References to Childhood Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-31
Updated: 2013-08-31
Packaged: 2017-12-25 05:28:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/949155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hatebeat/pseuds/hatebeat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe Pickles will never be able to deal with Seth, but at least Charles can give him what he needs to pull through.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Therapy

**Author's Note:**

> Follows the same canon as [Shit Happens](http://archiveofourown.org/works/863770?view_full_work=true), but you don't need to have read it to read this.

Whenever Pickles received a DVD from his brother, he was always accompanied by a look of abject terror. When Charles was a younger man, less attached to this band than he had perhaps shamefully grown to be, he may have savoured the look on Pickles' face, taken some sick pleasure in it. But by now, he had grown accustomed to accommodating each and every need of these five gentlemen, and he found it much more difficult to direct his sadism toward things that would negatively impact their mental well-being.

Particularly in Pickles' case, since things had, well, escalated between the two of them. It wouldn't do to say they were involved in a relationship; Charles hadn't filled out the proper paperwork for that sort of thing, and although it was perhaps only an excuse for himself, had no intention of doing so. It was clear that the other members of the band could not know, although Pickles sometimes did a rather lousy job of keeping up appearances.

So when Pickles stormed out of the conference room, Charles had no choice but to continue the meeting as if completely unaffected. If he knew Pickles at all, Pickles would drown his problems in whatever substances first crossed his path, and by time Charles saw him again his mood would be fine. Or perhaps 'back to normal' was a better way to phrase it. 

It was another forty-five minutes before the band meeting concluded. Charles had tried to surreptitiously hurry them somewhat, but the boys' attention spans lasted no longer than usual, and to keep from talking about serious issues, they kept insisting that they wait for Pickles to be present.

After, Charles went straight from the conference room to Pickles' bedroom door and knocked.

"Pickles, it's me," he called through the door, his tone all business, and it would remain that way while he was in any public area of Mordhaus, no matter what the situation. 

When he received no answer from inside after a second knock, he considered the possibility that Pickles may have retreated to another part of Mordhaus, but it wasn't likely.

"I'm coming in," he said through the door, and pressed his thumb to the keypad. Charles stepped inside and pushed the door closed behind himself firmly, but a brief scan of the room found it unoccupied. Just as he closed the door, however, he heard a small thump coming from the closet. Alright, so he had a situation on his hands. Charles took a deep breath and counted to five, preparing himself to deal with this one in particular. If it were any of the other boys, it would be easy to stay emotionally detached and find them a solution, but being slightly more emotionally invested made it harder to maintain a disconnect.

"Don't come in here," Pickles said to him as soon as his hand touched the closet doorknob. Charles hesitated for only a moment, but pushed into the closet regardless. The light was off, but with the light from the bedroom he could make out Pickles' figure sitting on the floor against the back wall, clutching a bottle of liquor between his legs.

Pickles sighed at him. "If you're gonna come in, close the fuckin' door."

Charles did just that and then approached Pickles, seating himself uninvited at his side. Being in the darkness made this somewhat easier, actually.

"Why are you, ah, drinking in the closet?" he asked as gently as he could.

Pickles didn't answer right away, but Charles could hear him taking another swig from the bottle. 

"Can't face him," Pickles finally muttered, bottle clinking as he set it back down onto the stone floor. 

Charles pressed his lips together, considering that, considering how he could possibly rectify this, but he couldn't understand the logic behind it, couldn't wrap his mind around it.

Subtly, he placed a hand on Pickles' leg, just a reassurance of his presence.

"Pickles, he's nowhere near here. It was just a video."

"Yeah. But you don't get it. That's fine. There's no way you could." Pickles was fumbling with something, but it wasn't until he heard the spark of the lighter that Charles realised he was lighting a cigarette.

"Well, maybe you should try to explain it to me, then," Charles suggested, gently squeezing his thigh.

"Heh, funny, just what Donny used t'say..." he trailed off, laughing hollowly. Pickles took another drink, then to his surprise, passed the bottle to Charles. "I can't explain it, dude. I can't fuckin' talk about it."

 _Fuck it,_ Charles decided, and he helped himself to a drink from the bottle. Tequila. He handed it back to Pickles, and Pickles traded him for his cigarette as Charles loosened his tie.

"Pickles. I'm certainly not about to disclose your business to anybody else-"

"It ain't that, dude," Pickles cut him off. "I'd fuckin' tell you if I could. Just can't talk about it, you know? I mean, at all."

Charles considered that as he dragged on the cigarette. Pickles took the cigarette back from him, then, and Charles slid his arm between Pickles and the wall, pulling Pickles against his side. 

For the better part of the next hour, he drank and smoked with Pickles, subtly making adjustments to meeting times on his PDA, sending a few orders to his secretary. It was bad management on his part, disrupting his schedule mainly due to personal feelings that breached the manager-client relationship in too many ways to count, but that was what he was doing. Barring an emergency, everyone else would have to wait.

Just when Charles was starting to feel suitably buzzed, he shifted until Pickles lifted his head from his shoulder. Charles stood up and adjusted his tie.

"In ten minutes, you will be in my room," he commanded with all the authority he could muster with the delicacy of the situation. Pickles could have ten more minutes to hide, but Charles couldn't allow him to keep cowering in fear in a closet. 

"You got it, Chief," Pickles said, but his tone didn't match his words, and Charles was glad that he couldn't make out his face.

 

Pickles opened the door to his bedroom, only late by three minutes and looking slightly apprehensive about entering, but he locked the door behind him and came fully into the room.

"Knees," Charles told him, and Pickles dropped down, for once not putting up any resistance. He had no fight left in him right now, but that was fine, because Charles wasn't doing this for play- he was doing this to correct the situation. It was his job to stay in control, and if he couldn't keep Pickles from feeling miserable, then he wasn't doing a very good job. 

Perhaps it said something about the both of them, but this was the only method he was sure Pickles would respond to in his current state.

Charles approached him, pulling his tie from his neck. Pickles' eyes were downcast, but Charles took his chin in his hand, looking him in the eye, briefly, before slipping the tie around Pickles' eyes, securing it tightly at the back of his head. He ran his fingers through Pickles' dreads, wordlessly voicing his approval.

"This is new," Pickles commented. Charles hadn't ever taken away his right to sight before, but now he was wondering why he hadn't. Perhaps because in the past, the situation hadn't called for it like it did now. 

"Quiet."

"S'that an order?"

"You know it is. Come here," he commanded, tugging sharply on Pickles' dreads, forcing him to struggle to his feet. Charles led him to the bed, facing the post at the end corner. 

"Drop your pants and give me your hands," Charles said, and Pickles didn't hesitate. Jeans and briefs at his ankles, he held his hands out straight, and Charles secured them with cuffs around the bedpost.

"You're very obedient today," Charles told him softly as he ran his hand over Pickles' backside, as much of a compliment as he was willing to offer. But Pickles had been ordered to stay quiet, so his only response was a small shiver of pleasure.

Charles rolled his sleeves up to his elbows and picked up the belt from the mattress. He allowed Pickles to hear a test crack against his palm and was rewarded with a shudder down Pickles' spine. Even still, Pickles jumped at the first stroke of the leather against his ass. Charles gave him a few more warm up swings, but then yanked Pickles' dreads, pulling his head back so Charles could get close to his ear.

"There is information I want that you're not giving me," he whispered, "and I _will_ have it. The sooner you consider talking, the better."

" _Dude_ ," Pickles begged, squirming like he might be able to get away.

"No arguments."

Charles let go of Pickles hair and bought the belt down across his thighs with a harsh crack. Pickles groaned and pulled himself closer to the post by his cuffs, but they had barely gotten started. 

He picked up the pace, delivering the beating precisely and methodically until Pickles' ass and thighs glowed red, and Pickles was clutching at the bedpost to keep himself upright. 

A small sob escaped Pickles lips when he hit him just right, and Charles paused.

"Are you ready to tell me?"

"Dude, I _can't_ ," Pickles insisted, leaning his face against the wooden post.

Charles gave him another smack that made Pickles' knees buckle. "Then I'm not finished."

And he wasn't finished, not until Pickles could no longer stand, not until Pickles was crying from the intensity of it all. Charles had to close his eyes for a full fifteen seconds in an attempt to will away his arousal; this was about Pickles' needs, not his own.

"Stand up," he commanded, but he allowed himself to sound a little kinder. 

Pickles tried, and Charles would give him credit for that, but he was too far gone, too far broken, and they both knew it. Charles knelt down behind him and slid an arm around Pickles' waist, pulling his body close against him. 

Charles kissed Pickles' ear, then murmured, "Tell me why he scares you so much." So much so that a message from him would leave Pickles cowering in a closet. 

Pickles relaxed against him with a great sob, his chest shaking with it. 

"He's _done shit_ , dude, you can't understand, he's..."

Charles allowed a few more kisses- behind Pickles' ear, lower on his neck, offering a small comfort after the onslaught he had just put Pickles through.

"He made me... he called it a _game_ , made me take my pants off, let him... _do things_ , you know? To me." Pickles was really sobbing now, and Charles held onto him more tightly.

"Blamed it all on me, too, told me _I'd_ get in trouble if mom and dad found out..."

Charles took a deep breath, trying to quiet the rage that was churning in the pit of his stomach, but he couldn't, not by a long shot, so he reached in his pocket for the keys to the cuffs and freed Pickles' hands.

"Good," Charles told him, his voice rough to his own ears. "Good boy. Thank you for telling me."

Pickles turned around and fell against him, his body quaking as he grabbed onto Charles. Charles held him and let him cry, knowing there was nothing he could say to make this better. He couldn't erase Pickles' childhood memories. They both knew that. 

Once Pickles' sobs slowed, Charles reached up to take his tie from his eyes, but Pickles grabbed his hand.

"Not yet," he asked of Charles, and Charles didn't push the issue. He knew that as soon as he took off the blindfold, everything would become real for Pickles, and he was willing to let him hide for just a little bit longer. He had earned it.

**Author's Note:**

> [Click here](http://skelethal-boy.tumblr.com/post/71988349767/therapy) to check out tumblr user [skelethal-boy](http://skelethal-boy.tumblr.com/)'s amazing illustration for this fic!


End file.
